and secondly, she changed with the years in an astonishing degree. Lord Melbourne, the Prime Minister of her early life, the guide and mentor of her first decisions as a monarch-in fact, the man who trained her-always spoke of her as eminently teachable and docile.
After she married Albert of Saxe-Gotha, she took her husband as mentor.
Her early English education was swallowed up in a German education. She had learnt German as a girl; but now, out of passionate love for her husband, she spoke nothing but German in her home; read chiefly German; took her ideas from her husband; saw life and men through his eyes. She did not love him merely; she grew to idolize him.
A story is told of her early married life which illustrates her devotion. I cannot say how it originated or who was the authority for it; but it became a tradition, one of those stories which are truer than truth, symbol as well as fact.
The husband and wife did not agree about a certain policy. Victoria, still English, was backed up by the Minister whom she was accustomed to trust: at length she said gently to her husband:
'Don't let's argue, dear. I am Queen; I mean the responsibility is mine. You see, don't you?'
'Yes, I see,' said Albert, and left the room quietly.
In half an hour she wanted him and was chilled to hear that he had gone out.
In an hour she sent again; he was still out.
He did not appear at dinner, and the Queen could not even pretend to eat.
Late in the evening she was told he had returned and she waited expectantly; but he kept to his apartment.
At length the Queen could stand it no longer. She went to his room; but the door was locked. She knocked and knocked.
'Albert, Albert!'
'What is it?'
'Oh, let me in; I want to come in.'
'I'm sorry, but I've letters to write.'
'Let me in, I say; you can do your letters later.'
'I want to do them now; please leave me alone.'
After begging and begging in vain, the Queen burst into tears.
'Oh, forgive me, I'm so unhappy. I can't bear to quarrel with you. I can't bear it.'
That was the literal truth; she could not bear a momentary coldness in the man she worshiped. When two love, the one who loves the least is master; so the Queen became her husband's slave and echo.
Prince Albert's death widowed Victoria-maimed her. For years she found it impossible to take up life without him. Even her duty to her children and the Crown could not draw her from the absorbing anguish of grief; her very reason tottered, for her love was rooted in reverence. Albert was her divinity.
To the very end of her life she bowed to his authority.
And when, after many years, she took up life again without him, she seemed changed to everyone. She met her English ministers and advisers from a different standpoint. She felt herself their superior. She not only knew the English view of matters, but also the German view, and this gave her a singular authority. Her confidence in herself, her dignity, her sense of her own importance grew with the years, till she became authoritative. In every difficulty she was accustomed to ask: 'How would he have acted?' It is on record that on more than one occasion she left her minister and went over to a bust of her husband and asked the stone effigy what she was to do.
Such devotion did not seem ridiculous to her, for love is never contemptible.
Besides, there was a great deal of common human nature in her, and it may be well to bring her ordinary qualities first into prominence.
Two stories that can both be vouched for throw, it seems to me, a high light on Queen Victoria's character.
She was a great friend of old Lady Hardwicke's, and used often to go and have tea with her. Lord Hardwicke told me once that as a boy he was very curious to know what the two old ladies talked about, and once listened at the door when the Queen was paying an unusually long visit.
It seems that they had sent for fresh tea for the second time, and the two old ladies had consumed an enormous quantity of muffins. They had been talking about their dead husbands, and when the Queen described how her beloved Albert had looked in his court dress when decked out with the Garter for the first time, she burst into tears. 'He was so beautiful,' she cried,
'and had such an elegant shape,' and Lady Hardwicke sobbed in sympathy.
'They cried in each other's arms,' said he, 'and went on crying and drinking tea while swapping stories of their dead husbands.'
When the Queen got up she wiped her eyes. 'My dear,' she sobbed, 'I have never enjoyed myself more in my lie; a really delightful time-' and Lady Hardwicke mopped her eyes in unison.
'A really delightful time, dear.'
When old age came upon her, bringing with it a certain measure of ill health through stoutness, she became irascible and impatient. As a girl even, she was far too broad for her height, and particularly short-necked. In her old age she was very stout, so stout that for ten years before she died, she had to be watched in her sleep continually by one of her women, for fear her head should roll on one side and she should choke, her neck was so short.
There was perpetual scandal in her late middle life about her relations with her Scotch gillie and body servant, John Brown. Even among the officers of her court, there were some who believed in her intimacy with the servant; while there were others equally well informed who would not harbor even a doubt of her virtue.
I remember asking Lord Radnor about it once, who had been in her household for twenty years, and whose daughter had been brought up with
the daughters of Prince Edward, but he would not admit the suspicion, though he told me a curious story of the privileges which John Brown arrogated and the Queen permitted.
On the occasion of a visit from the German Emperor, Lord Radnor had to arrange the reception. He formed up the lords and ladies of the court in two long lines, a sort of lane, in fact, through which the Queen and the German Emperor would pass to the dining-room. Just when he had got everyone in place, John Brown came in and began pushing the lines further back. Lord Radnor told him courteously that he had already arranged the court and that it was all right. John Brown told him he didn't know what he was talking about and pushed him, too, back into the line.
At the moment there was nothing for Lord Radnor to do but submit.
That evening Lord Radnor told the Queen that he had to complain of her servant. The Queen listened impatiently and replied that 'It was only John's way; he did not mean any rudeness.'
When Lord Radnor insisted that he had been rude, she replied, 'You must forgive John. It is his way,' adding, with curious naivete, 'he is often short with me.'
Brown's apartments were always near those of the Queen.
She sometimes sent for him two or three times in the evening. He would always come down, but he often made her wait, and even neglected to address her as 'Madame'; he would just put his head in at the door and say,
'Well!' The Queen would say, 'I just sent to see if everything was all right.'
Brown would not even deign to give a word in reply, but went back to his rooms in silence.
Towards the end of his life she gave him a house and piece of ground in her own park at Balmoral, and when he died she set up his statue in the grounds.
One of the first things the Prince of Wales did when he came to the throne was to ask the relatives of Mr. Brown to take the statue away. It is, I believe, still regarded as a precious heirloom in the Brown clan.
In her later life, Victoria left all the ceremonies of royalty to Prince Edward.
He had to receive for her and fulfill all the social duties of the monarch, but there his power ended; he was a figure-head and nothing more. She hardly ever attended a court and gave scarcely any dinners, except occasional dinners to royal personages, particularly to her nephew the German Emperor, and now and then to some German prince; but to the end she kept in her own hands the reins of government. She did not even consult her son about anything or allow him to have any first-hand knowledge of state affairs.
She judged him almost as severely as the German Emperor judged him later.
